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I let out a gasp. “What? Where?”
As he explains everything, how he’s been following this country singer, who is actually his estranged brother, on Instagram and found out he had a show in Austin tonight, I feel grateful and regretful at the same time. On the one hand, I’m glad Caleb is at a place where he feels comfortable sharing these secrets with me, but at the same time, I hate that he had secrets in the first place.
“I realized something tonight,” he says softly. “We can’t just let Dean go.”
“Caleb,” I start with the tone of a warning. “We can’t?—”
“I know,” he says, cutting me off. “We can’t force him, but we have to fight for him, Briar. Because if we don’t, then we’re basically letting people like my father win.”
“But…what if he resents us?” I ask. If I had any tears left to cry, I would, but I’m exhausted. Every ounce of energy to feel anything has been spent.
“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, but we have to try. What a waste to throw love away to try and be free. We may never be free, Briar. But this way, we can at least be together. I fought for you, and I’ll fight for him just the same.”
He grips my hand in his, squeezing tight. His eyes are rimmed red, which I know means he’s been crying. Deep down, I know he’s right. It’s a mistake to let this go.
“Come to bed,” I whisper. “We can talk to him tomorrow while Abby’s at school.”
With a sigh, he finally relents. I watch as he undresses and climbs into bed beside me. I place my head on his chest and stare up at him. Pressing his lips to mine, he kisses me softly.
Before long, I drift off to sleep, but I can feel Caleb beside me, restless all night.
* * *
“Don’t forget your lunch box!” I shout toward Abby as she bolts for the front door. The long yellow bus can be heard from all the way down the street as it heads toward our house.
Jogging behind Abby, I hand her her lunch and kiss her on the head as she runs to meet the other kids getting on the bus on our street.
She giggles excitedly with her friends as the bus rolls up and stops in front of them. It’s still so hard to watch her go to school every morning. Not being there to protect her at every moment takes strength and faith as a parent I never prepared for.
Putting on a brave face, I watch from the porch as Abby climbs onto the school bus. Once she finds her seat, she waves at me through the window, and I wave back.
I’m so deep in thought as her bus rolls away that I hardly notice the car missing from our driveway. As I head back toward the house, I glance toward the apartment above the garage, where I know Dean is currently sleeping.
But I stop in my tracks and glance back toward the driveway for a sign of his car. Dread rolls through me when I realize it’s not there.
“Caleb,” I call, moving quickly toward the house. As I enter the back door that leads to the kitchen, I find Caleb pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Do you know where Dean is?”
He pauses. “He’s not in his apartment?”
“His car’s gone,” I reply.
When our gazes meet, I recognize the instant fear in his eyes. I rush out the door first, jogging across the yard and up the stairs. I bang on his door, hoping he’ll answer and put this fear to rest. I’m aware there are a hundred possibilities of where he could be that is nothing to worry about, but my gut tells me something is wrong.
There’s no answer. Caleb comes up the stairs a moment later with keys in hand. As he unlocks the apartment, I dash inside and find it empty.
“Where could he be?” I ask.
“Let’s not panic,” he replies. “His stuff is still here, so he’s coming back.”
“What if he’s hurt, Caleb? What if there was a car accident or someone hurt him while he was alone? No one would know to call us.”
“I’ll call him,” he replies in a rush, pulling out his phone. I can hear it ringing through the speaker, but after a few unanswered rings, it goes to voice mail.
I pull out my phone and shoot him a text.
Just let us know you’re okay.
In the back of my mind, I know there’s a possibility that Dean is perfectly safe and that he’s just found someone else to keep company overnight and into the early morning hours. That realization hurts, but could we blame him?
